


Before The Siege

by vocal_fries



Series: Subtext Becomes Text [4]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Anal Sex, DS9 S2E3 The Siege, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut, oh god the feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-13 23:23:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14758250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vocal_fries/pseuds/vocal_fries
Summary: Bashir and Garak prepare for the invasion of DS9 by Bajoran extremists in "The Siege." Our dear, aloof Garak shows glimmers of vulnerability in the face of a bleak future.





	Before The Siege

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I said on my last work that not everything I post will be BDSM, and this super goddamn isn't BDSM. That said, I'm still me so it's still explicit+++. Shield your eyes and/or close the tab if you're not down.
> 
> This work is strictly Garak's POV, unlike previous works in this series. I usually like to alternate within a single story, to contrast their experiences and motivations within the same interaction, but this work seemed to require less insight from Bashir. Their interaction here occurs over a much more balanced power dynamic than some works I've written, but Garak has been so withholding that he has to do a lot more work to get to that point. For that and some other reasons, I found his POV more compelling. I'd be curious to know if anyone thinks this would have benefited from a Bashir POV section -- comment away!

Julian Bashir’s face looked somber when the doors to his quarters whispered open. “Come in, Garak.”

Elim Garak stepped carefully over the threshold, eyes scanning the room warily. “Good evening, doctor. Are you well?”

Bashir looked at him closely. “I’m all right. We should talk.” He began to move toward his sofa, paused, and returned to embrace Garak lightly. The Cardassian felt the young man press a kiss against his cheek. “I’m looking forward to dinner,” Bashir said, but his voice was tight. He sat on the sofa.

Garak felt a similar tension spreading through his own body.  _ What is this? _ he wondered, taking a seat near the human. He studied Bashir’s face.  _ He’s afraid, _ he realized.  _ Of what? _

“Garak, Commander Sisko is going to order non-Bajoran civilians to evacuate the station tomorrow morning. The Circle has made inroads with the Bajoran Provisional Government, and a Bajoran military force will arrive at DS9, perhaps as early as late tomorrow, to try to retake the station.”

“I see.” Garak’s mind raced. He’d heard a faint whisper of rumors, but only bits and pieces. Sisko had kept the meetings off the grid. “Is Starfleet evacuating as well?”

Bashir smiled faintly. “In theory, yes. It’s not our station. But there’s been talk amongst the senior staff about finding reasons to stay. We intend to fight.” He met Garak’s eyes. “Do you have anywhere to go? If you leave the station?”

Garak took a deep breath to think about how to answer that question. “No,” he finally admitted. “Nowhere that offers any promise of survival.” He half-smiled at Bashir, shrugging. “Suggest a shorter hemline to the wrong party, and suddenly the quadrant becomes a much more dangerous place.”

Bashir rolled his eyes and sighed but otherwise ignored the jest. “We plan to knock out internal sensors on the station, but the Bajorans will have their own. Limited as they may be, they’re likely to find Cardassian life signs.” He leaned forward and grasped Garak’s hand. His grip felt urgent, and Garak squeezed back lightly. “These are extremists, Garak. And they mean to create a Bajor for Bajorans, this station included.”

Garak searched Bashir’s face. “I am aware of that, doctor, but I’m perhaps more clever than you give me credit for. I’m sure I can evade them, or at least offer a thrilling chase.”

Bashir smiled, but he looked sad. “You are undoubtedly the most clever tailor I’ve ever met.” Bashir squeezed Garak’s fingers again. Garak watched, seeing the young man brace himself to say something he obviously thought would be met with resistance. “I want to put you in medical stasis. You’d-“

Garak started at the suggestion, then cut Bashir off. “ _ Doctor _ , I will  _ not _ be left unconscious and helpless while Bajoran nationalists invade the station.”

“Garak, hear me out.”

Garak scoffed. “By all means, doctor. State your case for why I should make myself defenseless during a Bajoran invasion.”

Bashir ignored Garak’s caustic tone and answered frankly. “In stasis, I can hide you. I can mask your life signs more effectively in a stasis chamber. I’ve been modifying one of the mobile stasis pods in the infirmary, and I can make you appear to be Bajoran. And in stasis, you won’t need to eat or do anything that might put you at risk. Odo has agreed to assign quarters under a false identity, a made-up member of the Bajoran security team. I can create a medical file for him saying he has the Temecklian virus and is confined to quarters until he’s feeling better. The Circle wouldn’t harass a Bajoran citizen recovering from an illness. If they try, they’ll have to get through layers of encryption to break a medical quarantine lockout.”

Garak’s heart raced with panic at the idea of being held in a stasis pod inside a locked room. While hostile Bajorans tore the station apart.  _ No. _ He schooled his face into what he hoped was something neutral. “Doctor. I  _ appreciate _ the offer, but-“

“But you’d prefer to die? You’d prefer to be hunted by xenophobic Bajorans? What if they figure out that you’re a spy, Garak? What if they interrogate you?”

“I’m sure they’d learn all manner of useful tailoring tips. Measure twice, cut once, for instance.”

“Garak,” Bashir pleaded, raking his fingers through his hair in frustration. “I’m serious. This is serious. Everyone who’s not Bajoran is leaving, and even a lot of politically moderate Bajorans are leaving, as well. Bajorans with non-Bajoran partners are leaving. This will probably all be over in a few days, but it’s going to be a very dangerous few days.”

“And when it’s over? What if the extremists win? Eventually, they’ll wonder why the Bajoran that supposedly lives in my quarters has never emerged. I won’t fall into the hands of Bajoran nationalists  _ in stasis. _ I’d rather let them hunt me. At least I can die with my eyes open,” Garak snapped.

Bashir stared at his own hands for a few long moments. Garak realized that the young man had an ace up his sleeve, but one he was hesitant to reveal.

Bashir met his eyes. He looked troubled but determined. “There’s a way to set the stasis chamber to- to um.” He paused, biting his lower lip almost imperceptibly, and a rapid succession of emotions shimmered across his face. “I can set the stasis chamber to euthanize you if you’re not brought out of stasis after a determined interval of time. You’d die peacefully, and you wouldn’t be taken by The Circle.”

Garak was quiet, studying the younger man. An unusual mix of pain, trepidation, hope, and apology showed on Bashir’s face.  _ He knows me. _ Garak smiled in a way that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Okay,” he said, holding Bashir’s pleading gaze.

Relief washed over Bashir’s features for a moment before worry furrowed his brow again. “Are you sure?”

Garak smiled genuinely then. “Yes, doctor. You question my acquiescence after such a hard-won victory?”

Bashir tried and failed to return his smile. “I think we’ll hold the station, and I want to give you the best possible chance of living through the siege. But I can’t  _ guarantee _ either of us will make it through. I’ll give Odo and Dax my access codes, in case I don’t.” He paused. “How long?”

Garak didn’t need to ask what he meant. “Three days,” he said immediately, his voice firm.

Bashir’s eyes widened, incredulous. “Three days! Garak, this could take longer than that. Give it a week, at least.”

Garak steeled his expression. “Three days. Neither Starfleet nor the Bajorans are prepared to wage a war of attrition. This will be decided quickly. I won’t fall into Bajoran hands.”

“Garak!” Bashir looked exasperated. Garak looked at him with hard eyes, and the younger man sighed deeply. “Three days. Fine. Goddamn it, Garak.”

“I don’t want any Bajoran nurses helping you put me into stasis. I don’t want any of them to  _ know _ ,” Garak said, brooking no argument. Bashir nodded. “If anyone helps, it should be Odo or Dax. Three people is already too many, but I understand the usefulness of a backup plan in this case.”

Bashir sighed, relieved. He moved closer to Garak and grasped both of his hands. “Thank you, Garak.” He stared at their hands for a long moment. His lips quirked into a slight smile, eyes still fixed on their clasped hands. “We can do it tomorrow morning. Odo’s already assigned the quarters. I fabricated the personnel and medical file earlier and transported the stasis pod into the bedroom of the quarters.” He looked up, meeting Garak’s eyes. “Just in case you listened to reason.”

Garak actually laughed. “My dear doctor, your determination is matched only by your deviousness.”

Bashir smiled at him. He stood long enough to turn to face Garak, then sat on the older man’s lap, knees on either side of the Cardassian’s hips and hands on the sofa cushion behind his head. Garak looked up at him as Bashir leaned in and kissed him lightly. Garak slid his hands up the young man’s thighs to rest against the crease of each hip. Garak felt Bashir’s hands leave the cushion, and warm fingers slipped into his hair, along the ridge of his jaw, pulling him into a much deeper kiss.

After a long moment, Bashir pulled back. He looked flushed, breathless, and a little sad. “Let’s eat dinner,” he said quietly. He stood and offered Garak his hand. Garak accepted the gesture.

They discussed Rumi’s  _ Spiritual Couplets _ over dinner, their current shared reading. Garak remembered little of what was said, but he reveled in the sound of the young man’s voice, the flash of hazel eyes when Bashir parried a particularly sharp argumentative thrust. He knew this may be their last evening together, and he drank the details like a priceless bottle of kanar. Garak savored every laugh, every clever counterpoint, eye slyly batted eyelash.  _ He is beautiful. _

When they’d finished eating, Bashir rose, the sadness returning to his eyes. Silently, he placed their dishes in the reclamation unit. When he finished, he stood behind Garak, hands resting lightly on the Cardassian’s shoulder ridges. “Would you like anything to drink, Garak?”

“No, my dear.”

Garak felt Bashir’s strong fingers squeeze his ridges, fingertips kneading the muscles beneath. Garak inhaled deeply, held the breath for a beat, and exhaled slowly. He rolled his head to one side, pressing it against Bashir’s hand. The young man’s hands stilled.

Garak felt warm lips brush his upturned aural ridge. “Let’s go to bed,” Bashir whispered.

Garak nodded slightly, then rose and followed the human into the bedroom.

Bashir quietly removed his clothes and stood naked, watching Garak. Garak ran his eyes over the slim body, pleased at the perfect fidelity of his memory. As he removed his own clothes, he felt Bashir studying him just as closely.  _ Perhaps he’s trying to memorize me, as well. _ His heart clenched at the thought.  _ So sentimental, Elim. _

Bashir sank onto the bed, running his hand lightly over the space beside him. Garak joined him. Their lips met, and they lay facing each other, thighs twining as they kissed. Garak felt hungry again, and the human in his arms seemed equally determined to consume him in turn.

The deft fingers of one hand manipulated his aural ridge, neck ridge, shoulder ridge, while the other hand cupped his face. Garak hummed appreciatively into their kisses, shimmering waves of warm pleasure spreading through his body like an electric tide. The leg between his own pressed against his ajan, and as he slowly moved his hips, he could feel Bashir’s thigh become slick with his wetness. The sensitive microscales of his ajan glided over the slim, muscular thigh, building a sweet pressure between his own thighs.

Garak’s fingers traced looping shapes over the soft, unscaled skin of Bashir’s back, ribs, abdomen, chest. He let his nails graze the skin gently, scratching lightly in that way he’d found caused the human’s skin to break out in gooseflesh. He teased the hard nipples on Bashir’s chest as his fingers roamed. He gripped the young man’s hip in the way he’d learned long ago hardened the human’s cock. Bashir squirmed against him, whimpering and sighing against Garak’s mouth as they kissed. The sounds blazed through Garak, and he ground his wet ajan more firmly against the thigh between his own. Bashir’s hot, smooth erection pressed insistently against Garak’s abdomen, smearing precum on the soft scales there.

Time passed, but Garak didn’t know how much. He knew little, in truth. He abandoned himself to the delicious friction and pressure between his legs, to the hypersensitivity of his swollen ridges, to the sensations under his fingertips, to the taste of the man whose tongue slid over his own. It could have been minutes, or an hour, or neither. When Bashir finally kissed down his neck, sucking his ridges, Garak lay panting, wondering how long ago dinner had been.

He abandoned the thought when he felt Bashir’s mouth reach his ajan. His thighs felt cool as the air touched them, wet halfway to the knee, but he hardly noticed as the human lightly nibbled the thin scaled tissue that was now flared open with arousal. He rolled his hips as Bashir’s tongue slipped past the swollen lips, flicking the tip of his fully hard prUt. He felt hands grip his thighs, spreading them wide and holding them in place with surprising strength. Bashir buried his face, and Garak gasped when he felt the man’s lips close around the tip of his prUt. Bashir sucked insistently, rubbing the flat of his tongue against Garak’s prUt. Garak panted, overwhelmed by the sensations. When he felt fingers slip inside his wet ajan to encircle the base of his prUt, he moaned deeply and everted.

When he looked down at Bashir, alarmed that he’d everted into the man’s mouth without warning, he almost moaned again at the sight before him. Bashir’s mouth was stretched wide, almost enveloping even the thick base of his prUt, and Garak could feel the human’s tongue stroking the underside of his shaft while wet fingers stroked the sensitive scales around the base. Hazel eyes watched him, smoldering with desire.

“Julian,” Garak gasped, and lay back, overwhelmed. The ministrations continued, and Garak breathed raggedly, unable to think. Finally, Bashir’s mouth released Garak’s prUt, still hard and throbbing. He felt a tongue flutter over the scales at the base, and his body jolted involuntarily. Lips kissed his belly, his ribs, his chest. He opened his eyes as Bashir lay next to him again, slinging a leg over Garak’s hips and an arm across his chest.

Garak rolled his head sideways to look at him, panting. “Julian, my dear.”

Bashir smiled. “Garak.” He leaned forward, meeting the older man’s lips in a kiss.

Garak didn’t think he could feel more aroused, but the taste of his own lubricant in the human’s mouth sent a wave of heat through his body. His prUt ached. He rolled Bashir over, slipping his legs under slimmer ones. Golden thighs spread before him, and he gritted his teeth, reminding himself to be patient. He leaned down to kiss Bashir as he teased the man’s ass with fingers coated in the silky lubricant dripping from his ajan. Bashir whimpered into his mouth, and Garak slipped a finger into tight heat. He trailed kisses down a long, slim neck, occasionally nipping the unguarded skin, while he added a second finger. Bashir clenched around his fingers as Garak teased the skin at the juncture of neck and shoulder with his tongue.

Garak moved to Bashir’s ear, teasing his tongue across it. The young man cried out in pleasure, shivering. Garak whispered into Bashir’s ear, grazing the skin with his lips. “Are you ready?”

Bashir shivered again at the whispered words, and Garak heard a strangled “Yes.”

Garak pulled back only a few inches to align himself between Bashir’s thighs. He slipped inside easily, the body beneath him welcoming. And hot. And soft. And tight. He shivered and began thrusting, watching Bashir’s face. The breathless pleasure he saw animated his movements. He thrust into the slick heat embracing him, almost dizzy. As he felt the pressure build, he slowed slightly and swiped his fingers through the wetness trailing down his inner thighs, then grasped Bashir’s hard cock. He stroked the way he knew Bashir liked, firm, swirling slick fingers over the smooth, flared head each time he reached the tip.

Garak watched Bashir writhe, moaning. When he knew they were both close, he began rolling his hips in the familiar figure eight to rub the scales around the base of his prUt against Bashir’s slick heat. The younger man trembled, and Garak tightened his grip, swirling his other palm over the head of Bashir’s cock as his prUt rolled a mirrored pattern between Bashir’s thighs. Julian Bashir’s cry as he came was a more beautiful sound than Garak could have imagined. Garak came, feeling semen hit his chest as his own ejaculate pulsed into the body clenching hard around his prUt. He moaned, and they rode their orgasms as long as they could, savoring every drop of the euphoria they’d built together.

Finally, Garak stilled. He grabbed a small towel he spotted folded neatly on the bedside table.  _ He knows me. _ He gently patted dry Bashir’s cock and asshole, then folded the towel and wiped semen from his chest and prUt. He folded it again and dried his slick thighs. He rolled the towel and threw it on the floor. Bashir laughed quietly.  _ He knows me, _ Garak thought again.

Garak lay down next to the human, pulling a blanket over himself, and they each turned to face one another, arms and legs intertwined. They looked at each other quietly for a few minutes.

Bashir moved first, pulling half the blanket over his cooling body. “It’s not the last time,” he said quietly.

“It would be okay if it is,” Garak replied, equally quiet. He pulled one of Bashir’s hands toward him and kissed it.

Bashir’s fingers squeezed his. “Yes.”

_______________________________

Garak awoke to see Odo and Bashir standing over him in the quarters Odo had assigned the fictive Bajoran security officer.

“How long?” Garak asked.

Bashir looked at him, eyes narrowed. “Two and a half days.”

“You won,” Garak said, eyeing each man in turn.

“Yes,” Odo agreed. “Dr. Bashir led two of the key operations, in fact. It seems some of his bravado is deserved.”

Bashir blushed slightly, but he managed to look nonchalantly derisive of Odo’s backhanded compliment. “Thanks, Odo. I guess.”

Odo snorted. “Unless you need anything from me, I’m eager to get back to my office and regenerate.”

“Thank you, Odo,” Bashir said again, sincere this time.

“I’m pleased to see you well, Constable,” Garak said politely. “Thank you.”

Odo scoffed quietly and left.

Garak sat up, looking Bashir over. He quirked a brow ridge. “Key operations? Have you been holding back on us?”

Bashir only suppressed half the smile playing across his lips. “I’m a Starfleet officer,” he said. “And a moderately well-trained one.”

Garak made an expression of surprise. “Humility? Who would have thought! Could I have done away with your bravado by simply naming it? I’d have done it long before today, my dear.”

Bashir rolled his eyes, but he smiled. “Stop. Jadzia’s already been ridiculous about this.”

Garak smiled more warmly. “Would you like to have a drink and talk about it? A simple tailor must live vicariously through the feats of others.”

Bashir rolled his eyes again, then looked at Garak with an expression that was at once knowing and longing. “Yes. My quarters.”

Garak smiled and followed Bashir from the room.


End file.
